


The Tiger Who Came to Tea

by wildsherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brain Damage, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4201479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildsherlock/pseuds/wildsherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miraculously, Jim Moriarty survives the events of Reichenbach. Post-Reichenbach Jim, and how Sebastian copes with his injured partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tiger Who Came to Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, this is the first ficlet I've decided to share on here. CC welcome and appreciated.

Holding Jim's near-lifeless body on the rooftop was the second most difficult moment of Sebastian Moran's life. He searched frantically for a pulse, crying out in relief after feeling a thready beat----beat----beat that meant his boss was not yet gone. Having to carry his limp body down to the hospital below, admitting him under a false name – Richard Brook wouldn't work any more, not with all the publicity surrounding him and the famous detective – no, something ordinary... Sebastian chose Nicholas Rogers as the new name for his boss. It's nothing witty or clever, but it would have to do.

The hours following passed by in a blur, the sniper long since having run out of tears to weep for his boss's safety. Eventually, one doctor arrived with good news. Jim – or Nicholas, as he was to be called – made it out of surgery and was currently sedated in critical care. _At least he's not as good a shot as I am_ , Sebastian pondered, _or else he'd be in the morgue right now._

The next few months were strenuous, to say the least. The events on the rooftop led to a forced retirement for both the sniper and his once-boss. He left Jim's criminal empire under the care of one of the higher-up members in favor of spending all his time taking care of his incapacitated partner.

 

* * *

 

 

“Seb, draw!” Jim offered up a sheet of paper, a crayon rendering of what might have been the sniper's likeness, if you squinted hard enough. Jim's drawings lacked most of the finesse they once had, reverting back - along with the rest of his mind - to his current childlike state.

“Very good, dear!” The sniper took the drawing with a strained smile. It pained Sebastian to see his boss like this, to see the body of his boss, the mastermind he had fallen in love with, be no more than a shell of what he once was. The childish and playful gaze that was now present on the ex-criminal's face was jarring. His eyes, while wrinkling with smiles, retained their trademark emptiness that made Sebastian's stomach turn with unease. This was _not_ the man with which the sniper had spent the past seven years of his life. That man, the real Jim Moriarty, died on the rooftop. _You had to play your stupid fucking games with Sherlock, didn't you? You couldn't fucking resist. But you can't even fucking remember Sherlock now, can you?_ Sebastian muttered a few choice words under his breath.

The sniper had had enough. He knew that Jim would not have accepted resignation to this life. He glanced over at the clock. It was getting late. “Hey, Jim! Look at the clock! Do you know what time it is?” Jim bounced with excitement as he looked at the numbers on the clock, but his happiness quickly gave way to an indignant pout, “No! Don't want bedtime!” His stubbornness was one of the few things that gave a hint at Jim's past self.

“How about if I read you a story? I can read you the one with the tiger again,” Sebastian knew, however, exactly how to bribe his infantile partner into obeying his rules. Even before that day on the roof, Jim could never resist a good story. A look of consideration clouded Jim's face before he picked himself up from the floor, nodding enthusiastically in affirmation. He puttered over to the bathroom and brushed his teeth while Sebastian searched for the book on his shelf, “The Tiger Who Came to Tea.” Sebastian had recalled from one of their old conversations that it was one of Jim's favorite stories from his childhood, and managed to procure a copy at a second hand bookstore on Charing Cross Road.

He tucked the criminal into bed, teeth freshly brushed, and sat down next to him to tell the tale of the tiger who ate poor Sophie's family out of house and home, of his mysterious disappearance the next day. Sebastian could see why Jim had loved this story so much as a child, it reeked of his temperament. Jim's eyes fluttered beneath their closed lids as the story came to an end. He looked peaceful, in a way that he never had before. The sniper bent down and planted a gentle kiss on the smooth forehead of the slumbering ex-criminal. “Good night, boss.”

With that, he took one of the extra pillows of the bed and held it firmly against Jim's face. In an instant, Jim sprung back to life, struggling against the smothering down. In the muffled protests stifled by the pillow, Sebastian could make out a few words, pleas for him to stop, to let him live. But there was no going back now. He shouldn't have survived that day on the roof, and Sebastian knew it.

Sebastian removed the pillow from his ex-boss's face after his kicking and squirming finally died down. Jim's eyes were glassed over and bloodshot, a trail of bloody spittle leaking out from the corners of his mouth. Holding Jim's lifeless body again - this time final, this time by his own hand – was the most difficult moment of Sebastian Moran's life. Finally, he allowed himself to mourn. To mourn the tragically short life of James Moriarty. The flood gates opened, and all of the emotions he held tight these past months spilled forth in a flurry of sadness, anger, and intense guilt.

As he let himself cry for his loss, his eyes fell upon his pistol – a Beretta 92FS – sitting on the bedside table. The one that Jim had borrowed from him as protection on the rooftop. The metallic finish of the gun shone through his choking tears. He gently set his boss down, as though to not wake him from his permanent slumber, and reached over to grab it. Sebastian opened the drawer, found the magazine – full but for one bullet – and loaded the gun.

He had always been a better shot than Jim.

 

 


End file.
